


The Desert

by thewolfhoundandlittlebird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom
Genre: Desert, F/M, Joffrey's plans didn't go as planned, Vacation, bodyguard!Sandor, but hey, right?!, that's not necessarily bad..., the stars are aligned, this is borderline OC!Sandor & OC!Sansa, unhappy!Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 07:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10759734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfhoundandlittlebird/pseuds/thewolfhoundandlittlebird
Summary: Sansa's having a rather difficult nameday, and a vacation might just do the trick to cheer her up. But, oh, she must have a bodyguard along with her! What ever will happen?This is poorly concealed smut, who am I kidding? But please, do enjoy!





	The Desert

**Author's Note:**

> I'm imagining Sansa as ~25, Sandor ~40, so book age spacing appropriate.
> 
> As always, Joffrey's a jerk. The story picks up after five years of trying to conceive, to no avail. Cersei's taken it upon herself to set Sansa up with an IVF clinic, in order for her to fulfill her end of the marriage agreement. Like the books, it was more arranged than for love, but Sansa started out loving/being starstruck by Joffrey. Over the years, that's gone away. Sansa used to want kids, and imagined that she'd have a brood by now, but has come to terms with the reality that that won't happen. And she's got quite the potty mouth, as not all ladies don't swear.
> 
> Sandor isn't such a dick to Sansa as he is in the books. More Southern gentleman. 
> 
> Hell, I'm writing this for myself, really, so let's just play in to this fantasy. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> [Sandor](http://its-meggowaffle.tumblr.com/post/160126386900/story-live-in-3-2-1-credits-clockwise-from)  
> [Sansa](http://its-meggowaffle.tumblr.com/post/160126416720/new-story-this-lovely-lady-is-madame-ostrich)  
> [the AirBnB](https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/9368334)  
> [Picset](http://its-meggowaffle.tumblr.com/post/160115570135/workin-on-a-little-som-som-hopefully-up-in-the)
> 
> Also, God damnit, AO3, it did that weird spacing thing in the middle of words again. But I'm to lazy to go through and fix all of them. Please forgive me.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Sansa stared emptily across the table, aseptic white in this blinding office, florescent tubes buzzing noisily overhead. But they were barely able to drown out his words from last night, _barren wasteland_.

 

_What a prick,_ she thought to herself, and not for the first time, bile rose in her throat at the thought of her husband and their mandatory weekly meetings. That's all it had slipped in to anymore; conjugal visits at the behest of the _queen bee_ \- Cersei sitting on her gilded throne and barking orders at her gilded children.

 

The doctor slid over a few pamphlets, asked her to consider the options. _'IVF isn't such a long-shot any more. We have almost a 75% success rate in our office,'_ she soothed, reached out to reassuringly tap Sansa's hand as she retrieved the pamphlets. But she mistook the empty look in her eyes as sadness and not some relief for not being able to harbor the spawn of these Baratheons. All her life, she'd wanted to be a mother, and now she couldn't even stomach the thought of it.

 

* * *

 

She climbed back into the car waiting for her outside the gleaming uptown office building of the doctors', and waited for Joffrey's guard to pull away from the curb.

 

_Gods, what a way to spend a birthday; being reminded how useless you are._ After all, it was made perfectly clear in their pre-nup that children were expected, and the deadline was ever approaching. One more month, and if she didn't figure out some way to get a baby in her, then the marriage would be 'terminated.' So eloquently had Cersei put it. How they'd emphasized that that was her place in this thing. Her blood boiled at the thought of it all.

 

Hadn't her father promised her a good man? Someone gentle and kind and strong, and not this green-eyed snake who's only interaction with her had turned into glorified 'booty time?,' and even then, only when he could get it up.

 

She rolled her eyes in the back seat, glancing up to see how much progress they'd made in the rush-hour traffic. _Not much_.

 

But from her perspective, she caught the eye of her driver in the rearview. “Happy nameday, ma'am.”

 

_That brute_ , they called him. _Yeah, well, 'that brute' was the only one that remembered._

 

“Thank you, Sandor.”

 

“Ma'am,” he nodded.

 

* * *

 

“I just think that a vacation would be good for us, my darling,” she forced. Gods, she was a terrible liar. Hopefully he was too distracted to notice. It wasn't like he ever gave her his full attention any more, even now as she suggested they get away for a while. Wasn't that something that was said? Stop stressing about it, and it'll happen?

 

Joffrey's phone was to his ear, as always, and he'd give her his attention for a few seconds in between pauses in his other conversation.

 

“Fine, whatever,” he waved her off dismissively. “But I have more important things to get done here. Take the jet.”

 

_More important things?_ Wasn't this supposed to take priority?

 

She turned to start collecting her things, Joffrey back to his conversation on his cell.

 

“Sansa!” she heard him call from the other room. “And take the dog with you. I don't want you wandering off.”

 

_Prick._

 

* * *

 

“You don't have _anything_ else?” Sansa pleaded with the agent at the car rental, the man opposite shaking his head gloomily.

 

“No, miss, I'm sorry. It's a holiday weekend, and we're booked out. This one's only available because we had a last-minute cancellation.” He glanced up at the man behind her, probably hoping that they weren't planning on trying to squeeze the both of them into the sub-compact he was offering.

 

She sighed heavily, maybe just another defeat to this crappy past week. “Alright, fine.”

 

* * *

 

“Where to, ma'am?” Sandor hauled her luggage into the back of the candy-apple red Kia in the rental parking lot, Sansa scrolling through what was left of the pickings of AirBnB on her phone.

 

_Not much_ , she thought as listing after listing scrolled by with a 'next available' date next to it. But finally, down there at the very bottom- “Yucca Valley.” _Gods damn it_ , not exactly the California vacation she had dreamed up on the flight out here. _Where even_ is _Yucca Valley?_

 

* * *

 

_Fucking LA traffic_ , Sandor cursed under his breath as he tried to navigate this _gods-damned Kia_ through the height of three-day weekend traffic at LAX. _She could have picked_ anywhere _but LA._ And _gods, the fucking steering wheel in this thing_ was cutting into his knees as he tried to weave between the cars.

 

But as the light faded from the sky, and the traffic cleared up, maybe it wasn't so bad.

 

That cunt Joffrey had meant for it to be some sort of slight to have to keep watch over the little bird. Keep her in her cage. Some sort of menial task for his best bodyguard to have to undertake.

 

_Personally,_ he thought, _he treats her like shit, I'm surprised she's stuck around this long._ Certainly that shit-for-brains cunt didn't treat her right. On more than one occasion, he'd seen her leave their penthouse with dark sunglasses and an angry air about her, or heard him insulting her from the other side of their front door.

 

He glanced over at her, arm out the window and her head lolled over on her shoulder, soaking in the last bits of sunlight and not giving a shit that her hair was whipping in the wind, and sure to be a rats nest of tangles by the time she rolled up the glass.

 

And he couldn't help but hide a faint smile at the notion that that was the happiest he'd seen her in a long while.

 

* * *

 

“My gods, it's _beeeeauuuutiful_!” Sansa exclaimed as she crossed the threshold. He'd already gone in ahead of her and swept the premises, something he'd insisted upon as soon as they'd pulled up the long driveway. She ran her hand along the back of the couch, looking at the beams spanning the ceiling, the woven rugs so perfectly matched to their desert surroundings.

 

Sandor passed behind her, arms laden with bags of groceries and luggage. _One trip or bust_ , she mused.

 

She wandered around the house while he sorted out the groceries, evaluating which of the bedrooms she'd choose. “Do you care which bedroom you get?” she called out to him, her eye on the one with the king bed and a view.

 

“No ma'am,” he called back, deep voice muffled by the walls of the refrigerator.

 

_Excellent._

 

* * *

 

“Ma'am, I can make my own dinner,” Sandor tried as she pulled out ingredients from the fridge. He seemed like a steak-and-potatoes kind of guy.

 

“Not to worry, Sandor, it's the least I can do for you getting stuck out here with me,” she assured, arranging everything out in front of her.

 

“If you insist, ma'am.”

 

That was just the way of it. She'd tried to get him to call her by her name, but he'd have none of it. _Ma'am._ She was his employer's wife, and, she supposed, that would be the end of it. Stubborn man.

 

She scrolled through her phone, selecting music to cook to, peeling off the saran wrap from the package of steaks they'd bought on their way out here. She couldn't help herself singing along to the songs, and soon she'd forgotten where she was. There was just the meal preparation in front of her, her task at hand, and her wandering mind to escape to.

 

* * *

 

_Does she know that she does that?_ Sandor watched her from one of the couches, as she swayed and hummed along to the songs, hair pulled up in a mess on top of her head to keep it out of the food. She really hadn't needed to do that, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal made for him. Had he ever?

 

He watched and wondered, watched as her hips swayed with the music, wondered if he ought to find an excuse to walk into the kitchen and bump into her.

 

There was wine in the fridge, wasn't there? He tried to take a mental inventory of all he'd stuck in there last week, what was left. She'd been a little heavy on the wine the past few days, sitting out in the jacuzzi and trying to pretend she wasn't crying into her glass.

 

_Ah, fuck it_ , he thought, pushing himself up off of the cushions. _Even if there isn't, it's an excuse to be in there with her._

 

“Smells good, ma'am,” he commented behind her on his way to the fridge.

 

She must have been off in her own world, because she startled at his voice, “Shit! You scared me!” she laughed.

 

“Sorry, ma'am,” he nodded, ducking down to scour the contents of the shelves in front of him for any trace of alcohol.

 

“What have I told you about calling me ma'am? It makes me feel old!” she swatted a dishtowel at the large expanse of his back.

 

“Just trying to be polite, ma'am.”

 

“Alright, that's it,” she said, fisting her hands to her hips. “I've had enough. You need to be punished.” He quirked the unburned eyebrow at her. “Do you know how to dance, _sir_?”

 

“I'm not a _sir_ , ma'am,” he said, though she could see the hint of a smile underneath his beard. “And yes, Sansa, of course I do. I'm not a heathen.” The smile spread.

 

“Well then, come on,” she demanded, hands raised for him to take them.

 

* * *

 

_Oh, gods_ , how long had they been doing this? How many songs had passed? She'd meant it as a joke, really; something to get him to _finally_ stop calling her that.

 

But the Pandora gods were on her side today, she guessed, as the songs went from hop-around-the-kitchen to slower to slower, and now his hand was on the small of her back and she was dangerously close to his chest.

 

_What the fuck was she doing?_ Her heart pounded in her ears almost loud enough to drown out the music wafting around the room. _Howthefuckhowthefuckhowthefuck_ ; her mind was spinning and gods, she wanted to stay there forever, and gods, she couldn't, she was a married woman, and this was borderline far too inappropriate, and for fuck's sake, why did he have to smell so good? Joffrey never smelled like that. Joffrey always smelled like cigarette smoke and unhappiness, and here was this man whom her husband had sent along probably to scare her, _if we're all being honest_ , and _fuck, he smells good._ Aftershave or soap or clean laundry? Or just solid? She looked at his chest, eye-level for her. _Does solid have a scent?_ Crisp white t-shirt and she'd never seen him before this trip in anything other than a white button-down and slacks and now… now, _fuck_. And he was warm, so warm, and she wanted to fall in to him, and she wanted him to wrap her up tighter, to move for the both of them so she could melt.

 

She looked up at him, _that was a mistake_ , searching for something in his eyes that said he didn't want to be here. That said that he was just doing this to amuse her, to get her off his case. But he was staring back at her, flint in his eyes, and he dropped her hands in that instant. Let them fall to her sides as he reached up to cup her face, lean down to kiss her.

 

_Ohfuckohfuckohfuck what am I doing?_

 

* * *

 

She'd pulled away pretty quickly after that. He'd been thinking about doing it about thirty seconds in to the very first song, when they were skin-to-skin for the first time in, well, ever. Any time that wasn't meant to be helping her out of a car or handing her something or otherwise being the gentleman that her cunt husband wasn't. And shit, he'd stepped in it now. He shouldn't have crossed that line. He knew she wasn't attracted to him like that. Was only cordial to him because she had to be; because he was always around. He still remembered the time when they'd first met, and she'd flinched when she saw his fucked up face.

 

“Shit, I forgot about the potatoes,” she mumbled, fluttering away and out of his hands awkwardly and in a hurry. She pulled open the oven door, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and clearing her throat nervously.

 

_You done fucked up, Clegane._

 

* * *

 

She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with him the whole night after that. She'd wanted to. Oh, boy, did she want to, but she was afraid she'd just pounce on him. Since he'd kissed her, she'd been hyper aware of every move he'd made, had replayed it over and over and overandoverandover in her mind, had rewound and started again. She found herself sneaking glances at him as he'd retired to the couch, queuing up Netflix for something to watch dinner to.

 

And as he scraped up the last morsels, she wished, stupidly, that she could be the plate touching his lips.

 

He stretched out on the couch across from her, arm across the back of it and legs spread wide in that dominant male thing that she never really noticed until now Joffrey didn't do. Cross-legged like a girl, not like this man who probably wouldn't be able to cross them because his balls were bigger.

 

_Sansa!_ she scolded herself, as her cheeks flamed red. _Oh my gods, did I just think that?_

 

“I'm sorry about earlier, ma'am,” he said, casual as can be and oblivious to the fact that she was thinking about his balls a second prior.

 

All she could manage was a high-pitched affirmation and a nod of her head, _it's alright_.

 

“It was inappropriate.”  
  
May have been, but she wouldn't have traded it.

 

* * *

 

She could feel herself getting sleepy as the second hour of some nature documentary played on, found herself with the overwhelming urge to just lay down here on this couch and fall asleep. She stole a glance over at him; arm still out across the back of the couch, the same way he'd been before. Eyes a little droopier for want of sleep, though. _Him, too_.

 

And she started thinking just how comfortable it would probably be to scooch up under his arm and make a pillow out of him. _Would he want her to do that?_ He'd apologized to her; did that mean he regretted it? She kept varying, telling herself to do it, and then immediately convincing herself out of it, kept glancing over at him to try to find some sort of feature in his face that told her _DON'T!_

 

But there wasn't anything, just his eyes locked perhaps a little too steadfastedly to the TV, and she found her body dragging itself over to him before she could get a chance to tell it not to.

 

She hoped that the satisfied groan that resounded in her head when she sunk in next to him wasn't audible; how embarrassing that would be!

 

But, _oh shit,_ that's exactly where she wanted to be, and she sat frozen next to him wondering if she should snake an arm around his middle or if she'd already wandered too far out of bounds.

 

He shifted next to her, angled his body nigh imperceptibly in her direction, his arm coming down to rest around her shoulders and pull her closer. She felt paralyzed and like she was going to fly out of control from the swarm of butterflies in her stomach. _Oh gods_ , she hadn't felt this exhilarated in… in… had she ever? Joffrey had just been… well, expected. She'd expected the arrangement of their marriage. She'd expected him to sleep with her. She'd expected to feel something for him farther down the line, or maybe that was hope and not expectation.

 

But here, now… she could barely contain herself in her own skin. And gods, there he was, warm and solid and clean and smelling so good, and _oh gods, he's leaning down again._

 

* * *

 

For fuck's sake, how long had he wanted to kiss her? How long had he been making up fantasies around her? How long had he wanted to steal her away like this, to finally show her that she deserved better? And now here she was, _voluntarily_ curling up next to him, and he just couldn't. Couldn't let her get away, couldn't convince himself that he _really shouldn't_ be heading down the path he was setting them on. _She's your boss's wife_ , he reminded himself as he leaned down to her again. _You shouldn't be doing this_ , as he got close enough to feel her breath on his lips, as he snaked a hand through her hair and pulled her the rest of the way to him.

 

But _fuck_ , she felt good under his hands, felt good as she kissed him back, with an eagerness he hadn't anticipated. And her hand found its way up to his neck, pulling him to her, and she twisted herself on the couch to face him better and he found himself thinking about laying her down, about taking this _way_ farther than it should go. But she was there, _finally_ , and it seemed like she was enjoying it too, and when else was he going to get the chance?  
  
_Fuck Joffrey._

 

* * *

 

Who leaned them back against the seat cushions, she really didn't know; because she knew she wanted to, knew he at least gave in to her silent request. But did it matter? Certainly in the haze of her brain, it didn't, as he kissed her under her jaw, behind her ear when she turned her head to kiss his arm, bracing him above her.

 

His free hand sought the rest of her, running along her side, across her collarbone, thumb along her jaw as he twined his fingers through her hair.

 

_Fuck Joffrey,_ she thought, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to bring him down closer to her, and she couldn't help but think about how much more of a man he was than her husband ever had a hope to be. Quite in the literal sense that there was more of him _,_ but just… more powerfully built, as she ran her hands up his back, wishing desperately that she could touch him without this barrier of cotton in between. Gods, had she ever even done this with her husband? She tried to think of her wedding night; probably the most intimate night they'd shared in five years of marriage. And all she could remember was some drunken quickie, Joffrey pushing her around a little more roughly than she would have liked. Should have been a give-away even then.

 

But the man above her kissed her gently, _who'd have thought?_ , working his way across her shoulders, up her neck, deep kisses she moaned into when he'd find her lips again. She wrapped her hand around his forearm, sinew and stone, and _fuck_ , this was what it must be like to be with a _man._ Not some skinny half-boy.

 

She ran her hand up his arm, her thumb tracing the curve up his bicep, slithering under the sleeve of his tee to squeeze his shoulder. _Oh,_ fuck _me._ He dipped his head to her ear, “Where are we taking this?” A kiss to her temple, a squeeze at her side, and _fuck,_ for the first time in forever she felt wanted and sexy, and the words tumbled out of her mouth before she thought better of them.

 

“To the bedroom,” she whispered, running a thumb along his lower lip, feeling the smoothness of the scars differently with her finger than her lips. He caught her off guard when he pulled it into his mouth, sucking on it, running the tip of his tongue along its pad. And with that, he pulled away from her, offered her his hand as he stood up from the couch.

 

_Well, come on, then._

 

* * *

 

He'd surely get a ticket straight down to the seven fucking hells for doing what he was going to do to her. Sleeping with another man's wife. It went against all his morals; certainly against all hers, too, lady that she was. But gods damn it, she was Sansa fucking Stark, and he'd been lusting after her since the moment he'd seen her. The gods only knew how much he needed this, probably how much she did, too. Someone to show her what she was worth. It may be the only opportunity he'd ever get, and he'd be damned if he wasted it.

 

She followed him into the bedroom she'd chosen, tethered to his hand, coming around to face him when he neared the bed. Kisses and tangles of tongues and Sansa on her tip-toes trying to reach for more, wobbling in her search enough that he laid her down on the edge of the bed. She ran her fingertips down the slack of his shirt as he hovered over her, palming his sides as she continued her path. He pulled it off, that backwards way that women seem to like, _let her touch_ . _Let_ me _touch,_ he played with the collar of her shirt, perhaps asking a little more permission than she expected to come from him.

 

* * *

 

_Oh, seven heavens_ , she pulled her shirt off for him, his mouth immediately going to her pulse, fingers working at the clasp of her bra, _thank the gods_ she'd decided on a front-clasping one this morning. Less for her to fumble with and more time to run her hands along his skin, the hills and valleys of his muscles, bumpy lines of scarred tattoos; more time to look at him as he worked over her, to focus on the way his lips felt against her and the way his beard tickled the more sensitive, newly exposed skin.

 

And not that she'd imagined how sex with him might be just about every day, she kidded herself, but he was sure taking his sweet ass time with her. She'd always imagined, if anything, _if anything were to ever happen_ , that it'd be in some hall closet or a bathroom or something dirty and quick and equally raunchy. But no, his hands were all over her, as hers were on him, rubbing and kneading and pulling out all the moans she could muster, firing up some spark in his eyes every time she did it. And _fuck_ , she could feel how wet she was, his thigh rubbing between her legs as he rested his knee on the bed. He must have known it, could sense the frenzy he was working her up into, because he unfastened his belt buckle, unbuttoned her jeans, took an agonizing eternity to pull the zipper down and strip her of them, all the while, a wolfish grin peeking out beneath the cover of his beard.

 

And he stood at the edge of the bed, still decent though she lay before him naked, panting and needy, looking down at her with some sort of awe. She ran her hand up his stomach, the soft hair on his chest between her fingers. He watched her hand as she moved it back to the waistline of his underwear, cheekily slipping beneath the elastic and pulling him to her a bit. He smiled at her, cogs turning in his head as he made up some plan for her.

 

“What?” she laughed nervously, now suddenly self-conscious under his clear scrutiny. Insults about how she'd let herself go now that they were married came flooding back to her mind, and she tried as hard as she could not to grab the covers and shield herself from his eyes. _He must be thinking the same thing! He must think I'm disgusting!_ Even though the rather pronounced evidence to the contrary was clearly visible though his jeans.

 

“Nothing,” he smirked, cock-eyed from whatever he was thinking about, dipping down again to kiss her, bite her lip gently.

 

“No, what?” she cupped his face, held it so he'd look her in the eyes. She'd end this right here and now if this insecure feeling stuck around.

 

“You're just perfect, is all,” he rumbled, claiming her mouth again, silencing her always-rehearsed protests to the contrary. She could only manage a hum in reply, keeping her hands tangled in his hair as he worked his way down her neck, sucking quite intently on her nipples before trailing down her stomach. _Oh, no. Ohnonononononono,_ she tried to pull his head back up, tried to stop his descent as he neared her belly button, knowing where he was headed. She'd only taken a shower this morning, and _what would he think of me?!_ and _nobody's ever done that_ , he would think her so gross. _Nonononono, he couldn't!_

 

“No, you can't-” she tried as he approached her hairline.

 

“You don't want me to?” He rested his chin against her, eyes peering up from nigh the crook of her legs.

 

“It's not that- I just...” she trailed. He just cocked his head to the side, waiting for an explanation. _OH gods, is he really going to make me say it?_ “I… it's been a while since I showered, and-”

 

“Sansa, if I didn't want to, I wouldn't. I'm not an idiot; I know,” he assured, dropping a kiss into the thatch of hair she hadn't bothered to take care of. He adjusted her legs over his shoulders, waiting for an okay to continue, but she just lay there, horribly embarrassed by how close his face was. She _wanted_ to enjoy it, but how could she, knowing-

 

“Did you want to go shower? Would that make you more relaxed?” He kissed her thigh, the rough callous of his palm running along the outside of it.

 

“Yes,” she blurted, squirming to get up, quickly, because _gods_ she didn't want to ruin the mood any more than she had already. He stood, offered a hand to pull her up off the bed. Sansa got to her feet, his arms immediately encircling her, pulling her in to another tippy-toe kiss, his hands dropping down to grab her ass, and it was his turn to moan as he squeezed her.

 

“Hurry back,” he growled into her ear, and _oh gods,_ if she'd been sitting on the bed, she might have just slipped off it.

 

* * *

 

She couldn't have been in there more than two minutes, hurriedly scrubbing herself, when he appeared out of the mist of shower steam, naked as his nameday. _Oh, blessed heavens!_ She pulled up images of those Greek statues she'd seen, sculpted and muscular and perfect and hard as stone. He spun her around, water beating on her shoulder, dropping his head down so he could rumble, “Didn't think I'd let you enjoy yourself in here alone, did you?” And he wrapped an arm around her from behind, barring her across her breasts, and she could intently feel his desire for her in the hardness pressing against her back, in his free hand that snaked its way between her legs and rubbed at her.

 

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed, clearly all propriety having escaped her somewhere around pre-dinner time.

 

“Clean enough for me,” he said, retracting his hand and leaving her _craving_ more, pressing her up against the shower wall so he could raise one of her thighs over his shoulder as he descended. And this time, his mouth found her, and she didn't complain, forgot about what she would have complained about anyway, as he sucked on her, circled that hyper-sensitive bud, ran his fingers along her slits. And he kept at it, coming up for air infrequently, as the shower's rain pounded down on them both. She could only stare down at the chiseled outline of his back in the fog, squeeze his shoulder every time she felt like she was slipping, to which he responded by pressing her more firmly between him and the shower wall.

 

“Up,” she pulled at him. “Upup.” She didn't want to finish this way, blissful though it was. As he raised himself up, she dropped down, pulling into her mouth, because she understood his desire to taste her, now. He groaned, and braced his arms against the tile, her tongue working along the length of him, circling his shaft and pulling on his balls, and she was right, she thought cheekily. _More balls than Joffrey_ , but the thought faded as soon as it popped up. Nothing but him in her head right then, the tautness of his muscles, the sounds he was making, what she could see of the exquisite grimace on his face through the fog.

 

“Mmm, not here,” he groaned, pulling her back up to him and kissing himself off of her. He reached back to shut the shower off, hoisted her up and carried her as soon as they were on the safety of the dry floor, kissing her all the way back to the bed.

 

She was getting impatient for him, wanted to feel him inside her, as he set her back down on the bed, kneaded at her breasts some more. “Condom?” she asked the top of his head, and his stilled for a gut-wrenching moment.

 

“Shit! No,” he stopped his task, anger at himself clearly budding across his features.

 

_Gods, but fucking gods damnit._ She searched his eyes for a moment, could see he was bracing himself for a lonely night. _Fuck it._

 

“Plan B in the morning,” she hurried, not wanting his desire to fade to the point of reason. It's not like she could get pregnant, anyway. She trusted him, not like she'd catch something from him, she reasoned with herself. “We go into town in the morning and get Plan B.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Absolutely,” she grabbed at his shoulders, moving him back up, spreading herself under him and pulling him into her in one smooth, oh-so-satisfying movement. Her hands rested on his ass, thrusting himself into her, and _for fucks sake, this is amazing._ She'd only been with the one other man in her life, _what was his name?_ , and while it was split-second strange to welcome someone else in, it was better then she could have anticipated. He filled her better than she'd ever been, was so slow, setting a rhythm, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper.

 

If he kept at it, she'd be there in no time. And judging by the look on his face, he would be, too. She snaked a hand between them, brushed his wet, fallen hair out of his eyes; met them with an intensity befitting of the increasing high she was chasing. “Shit, Sandor, I think I'm going to...”

 

He nodded, eyes shutting into that determined grimace again, halfway between agony and euphoria. She pulled his ear to her lips, that one that had become so gnarled, and whispered, in her most seductive voice she could manage, “ _Fuck me_ , Sandor.” He opened his eyes then, locking them to hers, “Hard. _Fuck me hard.”_ And he did, pushing himself away from her, holding her legs back so he could pound in to her, and she watched him, grabbing on to that elusive clench around him, watched as he sought her response to his movements, searched her face for a sign that she was going to come. She nodded at him, dropping her hand down to rub at herself, _I'm coming. S_ he watched him, too, sucking in breath through his teeth, grabbing at her hips as he thrust in to her ever more sporadically, but with no less vigor. _Oh, fuck_ , she thought, and she couldn't feel him lose himself in her, per se, but she could feel the slow pumps of his cock as he settled down, lowered himself back down against her chest, elbows at her temples and his mouth on hers.

 

“You're fucking perfect, Sansa Stark.”

 

And she couldn't resist, because when else would the opportunity present itself? She reached down to smack his tight, perfect ass. “You, too, Sandor Clegane.”

 

* * *

 

It was days like this that she reminded herself of that night in the desert, when she was staring at the manila envelope that had haunted her the past month, sitting heavily atop her dining room table.

 

It was final, then. That was it. She was no longer tied to Joffrey and his cruel family. No more days of enduring. He'd signed away on their agreement this morning, with far less fuss than she'd expected. Perhaps three million wasn't a thing to him, billionaires that the Baratheons were. But plenty enough of a settlement for her to start her life over. She rested a hand on her belly and smiled.

 

A knock on her door broke her daydreaming, Sandor's kisses waiting for her on the other side.

**Author's Note:**

> So, you know how somewhere in the books, I think it's mentioned that Sandor's pretty, uh... what's the delicate word? Virile? For some reason that sticks with me, and I have no proof why... anyway.
> 
> Epilogue:  
> They went to fetch Plan B the next morning, probably holding hands and being adorable all the way in to town. I imagine Sandor paid for it, which takes Sansa aback. 
> 
> But you know what? Did any one ever test Sansa for this supposed infertility? Nah. Just assumed it was her that was the problem, and not the inbred who can't get it up... 
> 
> So, baby Sansan! :D
> 
> I'm just imagining huge daddy Sandor holding a tiny little Sansan bean. D'awww.
> 
> Ok, I'm gonna go melt over here.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed. Leave comments if you did!


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